Issue 3: "The Transformation!"-Author's commentary
I know, it's been way too long, and a lot of you have probably thought, "Man, he ain't continuing the comic no more." But lo and behold, I've returned...just like MacArthur did to the Philippines (oh no you di-int). Now let's get down to the nitty gritty. There's me above, proudly displaying by far the most defiant and definitive apparel I had ever donned in my life-a big black trench coat with a huge Ska patch on the back. It was the same thing that I'd seen a Rude Boy wearing in junior high, two years earlier. The title tells it all: The Transformation.
Melrose in the '80s was a completely different universe than it is today. It really was reserved for subcultures and you wouldn't find any trendy people there at all. The above instance in which we had to literally walk across the street to avoid a "punk" section of Melrose really did occur. Punks and Mods/Rudies didn't get along at all back then, and there were some stores that had an almost purely punk clientele-a total no-man's land for Mods and stuff.
Coming from a total mainstream, ultra-trendy background, my first visit to Melrose was a total eye-opener. I had never known that these groups had strong identities through and through and were very proud/possessive of them. There was no dilution back then, and if one was anything short of the real deal then he/she risked being called a "poseur," which was the worst thing to be classified as.
Of course, at the same time, it was exciting to know that becoming part of the scene would initiate me into this world of rivlaries. For once I would have a real sense of belonging. Ironically, the one shop where I would find what I was looking for (that ever-popular "Ska" patch) was called "Poseur"...which was one of the most popular stores on the strip for mods, rudies and skinheads. The old English bloke that worked there (forgot his name!) was a real character and was totally friendly too. It was a totally monumental achievement for me to cross the threshold into Poseur as a trendy kid, and walk out with an authentic ska icon. You gotta understand-this patch was HUGE and it had the loudest, day-glo pink and white checkers with a bold, skanking figure on it. You could see this thing from a mile away. There was absolutely no bolder way to proclaim one's affinity for the genre-and if I was to wear it, there was no turning back.
My dad sewed on the patch with no questions asked...he recognized the trench coat and tripped out on that...it must've been the middle or end of Spring so he wondered why I wanted such garb. I didn't care. I wanted to be a walking billboard, and tell the whole world that I was into SKA.
Luckily it was kinda brisk the morning that I walked to school with the trench coat on. I could just feel that patch screaming behind me, knowing that every single person that saw it would mouth the words "Ska" and wonder what it was, just like I did years earlier. Then my friend Dave showed up to walk to school with me. He thought it was a cool coat, until he saw the back. He looked at me like I was crazy...and wondered why I made such a drastic manuever. I knew there was no other way for me to make a clean-cut transformation without that coat.
Sure enough, the coat and patch were the headlines of the day. It turned every head, and had everyone pause as they beheld the back and muttered silently to themselves, "ska ska?" My friends were in various states of amazement and wonder. One of my friends actually knew what Ska was, even recalling seeing tons of Vespas and Rude Boys back in his junior high. My eyes widened as I wondered why I didn't see such a multitude in my school. Then he looked at me, puzzled, asking why I was getting into it only then. "Dood, you're a couple years too late man. That scene's dead!" "No it isn't!" I argued back. "They're still around!" We went back and forth for a few minutes, and finally one of our other friends cut in, saying "Dood, if he wants to be a Rude Boy, let him be a Rude Boy! Geez! Let him wear his fuckin' coat!"
The rest of our friends had no idea what we were going on about...but many were certain that I was nuts for wearing something so crazily different. The one kid who called me a "Ska Ska muhfucka!" was this kid who passed me in the hallway on the way to class. He grimaced at my whole get up as he studied me head to toe, then saw the patch on the back, muttering "what da fuck..?" He waited a couple of moments to digest what he saw as I kept on walking. A few seconds later, I heard him yell..."You Ska Ska Muhfucka!" I couldn't help but chuckle and say to myself, "That's right, man..!"